


The War for Humanity

by Spaztiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon!Dean, Destiel - Freeform, M/M, Post Season 9, Slow Build Castiel/Dean Winchester, Team Free Will
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-08 18:39:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1951923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spaztiel/pseuds/Spaztiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Heaven is still in chaos, Hell is complicated, and Earth is caught inbetween.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The War for Humanity

**Author's Note:**

> So this picks up immediately after Dean opens his eyes in the Season 9 finale. I'm keeping it as canon!verse as possible because I kind of wanted to take Season 10 into my own hands. Basically, you are about to read how I think Season 10 should go.
> 
> EDIT: I found a really stupid plot hole but it's fixed now. I hope none of you noticed O_o

He blinks.

He’s staring at a ceiling, lying back on something soft that hugs the shape of his body. His hand is wrapped familiarly around his Blade.

It’s the only familiar thing he feels in this moment and his fingers clench possessively over the handle. Something is different. He feels wrong, restless. Like he can’t get comfortable in his own skin. There’s a strange thrumming sort of power that seems to emanate from his bones. He squirms on the bed and his muscles object to the movement, stiffened.

“There you are,” says a rough voice with a heavy accent. “Hello.”

_Crowley_ , his instincts tell him, and he sits up on the bed but quickly regrets it. His muscles fire rude protests at him and he groans as he heaves his leaden legs across the bed and sets his feet to the floor.

“How’s the meatsuit holding up?” Crowley smirks and raises his eyebrows expectantly.

_Meatsuit_? Now that was a particularly odd choice of words. It seems out of place, everything feels so _wrong_ , and he frowns, a growing unease nagging him in the back of his mind. “Awesome,” he croaks out, and it was meant to be sarcastic but it comes out sounding more pathetic than anything else.

Crowley shuffles his feet where he’s standing beside the bed. “Well. Considering your situation I guess I could take you on as my _apprentice_ , so to speak. It will probably take some time for you to learn the tricks of the trade but…” He looks down on him with a gleam in his eyes. “I have high hopes for you, Dean.”

_Dean. I am Dean._ He gasps as a barrage of images flare across his mind’s eye. He closes his eyes tight against the flood of them but they continue their rush at him. Everything. Every single experience he has had collapsed into one inconceivably disorienting moment. He sees the hungry flames that began it all, that took his mom and his apple pie life. He sees himself pouring the last of the milk over Sammy’s Lucky Charms while anxiously awaiting their dad’s return; a crudely sawed-off shotgun that barely earned him a cool nod of approval; Sam and Jess standing together and every hunt after she burned. He relives every worry he ever had about Sam and the horror of having to live without him, holding his limp body bleeding out over the dirt; hellfire consumes him all over again and he hears every screaming soul he ripped apart; pulling himself out of his own grave; standing in a barn and watching the shadows of magnificent wings spread; setting Lucifer free and the apocalypse; his little brother without his soul; Cas betraying them all; Eve; Dick; Metatron, the winged dick. Dad, Jo and Ellen, Lisa and Ben, Bobby. All the people he’s been close to and lost. He sees the events of the past year and they _hurt_. Everything hurts. He’s standing at Sammy’s bedside with Ezekiel once again, wanting nothing more than for his little brother to open his eyes once more. He relives all the guilt for tricking him into consent for Ezekiel to possess him and it just keeps snowballing. He sees Kevin’s corpse lying on the bunker floor. He watches the Mark of Cain burn on his forearm and feels the singe and scorch of it all over again. He watches himself being slowly driven mad by the tasks at hand. Killing Abaddon was easy—it was Metatron that brought him to this fate. He feels the plunge of the blade that pierced his chest and the blood that slipped between him and Sam when he told him he was proud of them. The flow of images abruptly cuts off. It leaves Dean gasping for breath. The emotions stab at his chest and sting in his eyes and it’s too much. He scrubs a palm at his face, trying to get control again.

“The Mark didn’t let go then,” Dean finally states hollowly.

“What was _that_?”

Dean looks up. Crowley is staring at him with an alarmed frown. Dean waves him off. “Never mind. Just, what are you doing here? Where’s Sam?”

 

* * *

 

Sam is sitting in the dungeon of the bunker on the ground with his legs sprawled in front of him tapping his fingers impatiently against the concrete. He glares down at the bowl of smoking summoning ingredients in front of him with swollen eyes and for the umpteenth time he _wills_ Crowley to appear, like maybe if he concentrates hard enough the King of Hell will be forced to answer his call. It’s no surprise he doesn’t and Sam sighs. Well, maybe Castiel won’t be too busy up in Heaven…actually he doubts it. He doubts that very much.

But for Dean? Cas would come for Dean right? He had already raised both Winchesters from the dead countless times, fought in so many battles for them, sacrificed everything on multiple occasions. He knew they could count on Cas.

It’s just that…

Sam is worried. The Mark had changed Dean so much that he’s starting to think there’s nothing Cas can do to save him. Maybe no one can save Dean.

Sam feels a soul-crushing guilt. It feels like an actual physical weight pushing down on his frame, weighing heaviest over his chest. His _brother_ is _dead_. And Sam is in no way prepared to live life without him. He has no one. He fights the familiar tears of frustration and loss. Literally no one. He is utterly alone in this world without Dean. He regrets ever being mad at Dean for doing anything in his power to keep him alive. Granted, possessing him with an angel was a less than savory method to do it, but he truly _understands_ now.

Castiel is his last shot at getting Dean out of this. He’s not even sure if he will be able to hear him. They haven’t tried praying to him since he got his angel powers back.

He scrubs his palms against his wet eyes and tries to ignore the aching hole in his chest. God, he feels pitiful.

_Castiel. Cas? Can you come down to the bunker? It’s about Dean…he’s—well…he needs your help._

He leaves it at that. He’s always had the suspicion that Cas likes Dean more, what with their _profound_ _bond_ and all. And if Cas knows Dean is dead…will he even want to come down here and talk to him? He shakes himself a little. _Get it together. Cas is your friend, too. He wouldn’t just abandon you._

Sam hunches forward and hangs his head. There’s nothing he can do now but wait for someone to show up. Wait while his brother’s body gets colder and colder.

 

 

* * *

 

Castiel almost doesn’t answer.

It’s not that he didn’t care or have the time to do it. He just didn’t want to have to face the pain of seeing Dean dead, if Metatron _was_ in fact, telling the truth. And he had actually been hoping that it would be Dean himself praying to him, which would quell that fear, but when Sam’s prayer is followed by silence that stretches for too long Castiel knows Dean is in trouble.

It doesn’t feel _right_. A piece of him still believes that Dean is alive.

But if he _did_ die…Castiel knows what happened to Cain. The Mark has an unthinkable hold on its wearer, and it will continue to hold, even after death. The throat of his vessel feels tight. His entire being revolts at the thought of Dean rising after death as a demon. _Dean_. The righteous man that he pulled from hell all those years ago. With his bright and shining soul and pure humanity. Even when he had been in hell, torturing souls, Dean’s still had retained some of its purity. Granted, it was hidden underneath layers of twisted, broken soul. But Dean had always been _good_. He was not a soul deserving of hell at all. Castiel had seen Dean’s soul bared to its very core and wholeheartedly believed that the man was capable of astonishing, _good_ feats.

To think that Dean’s soul might be put through that _again_ …it threatened to break Castiel into fragments that he didn’t think he would even have the will or desire to ever put back together.

Castiel sighs. He could never be selfish enough to put his own comfort over Dean’s soul. He looks down at the portal spell drawn in the floor. He adds a couple symbols to reverse the doorway and the coordinates of the bunker. In the end it was simple enough. It all came down to the fact that the Winchesters need him. Heaven can wait.

 

* * *

 

Sam has just about lost his last shred of hope when he hears a strange _fwoosh_ and looks up to see Castiel. The angel looks just as emotionally wrecked as Sam feels. His normally rigid and regal posture is slumped, eyes glassy and mouth drawn. “Where is Dean?” he asks and his voice is lower and more crackly than usual.

Sam doesn't care how the angel managed to get there. He just pushes his huge frame off the ground and wraps Castiel in a desperate hug. “He’s dead, Cas.” His voice breaks on the syllable of the angel’s name. He clenches his eyes shut and squeezes his friend, who is completely unresponsive at the moment—a cold statue. He can’t even feel the rise and fall of his chest and Sam knows angels don’t need to breathe but most of them, including Cas, usually do out of comfort for their vessel. He pushes away and holds him at the shoulders to stare at his face. “You’ve gotta help him, Cas, please.” Sam doesn’t even care how pathetic his begging sounds; he is so past dignity now. He would get down on his knees in front of Castiel and kiss his feet if that was what it took.

Cas can’t seem to meet his eyes though. He just keeps his eyes down and stares at his feet.

“Cas, I know you can help him, I believe you can,” he says, as if Sam’s faith in the angel would convince him to take action somehow. Castiel doesn’t even blink. “Where is he?” He shakes him roughly by the shoulders, frantic for a response. “Cas! Where is he? I want to believe he at least went to heaven but what that Mark did to him—Cas?”

The angel finally looks up. He hides none of the dismay Sam sees in his face. “I’m afraid Dean would not be in heaven,” he answers with conviction.

“He is in hell then.” Sam’s eyes fill with tears and he blinks them away, nodding. “Okay, alright, but you can get him out of there. You’ve raised him from hell before, you got me out of the cage with Lucifer himself, you can do it again. Right?” Sam is clinging to Cas—to this last hope—but Castiel does not look as optimistic as Sam feels and Sam’s heart plunges into his gut.

Cas breathes out heavily and Sam lets his hands fall from his shoulders. “I’m afraid,” the angel speaks, “that if it were a matter of retrieving Dean from hell, I would not survive the trip to get to him. This grace I have isn’t strong enough to fight off the demons I would meet. And my wings are gone, Sam.” Cas looks ashamed, dejected.

“Oh. Then we can get someone else to do it—”

“Sam, listen to me. What do you know about Cain and the Mark?”

Sam is taken aback and he can’t help but let the frustrated sarcasm leak into his voice. “Wha—just that God gave it to Cain as punishment for killing his brother, Abel. And that whoever tries to harm the wearer of the Mark will suffer a fate seven times greater and all that. Oh, and that it changed Dean into a raging psychopathic killing machine. Why is this important now?”

“It…” Cas looks thoughtful. “It’s a lot more complicated than you are aware of. The story the Bible gives does not do Cain much justice. But anyway, to make a very long story short, Cain chose to no longer serve the Mark’s demands. He turned the Blade on himself and died, but he rose as a demon. The Mark would not let go.”

During Castiel’s explanation Sam had blanched. “Are you saying that Dean is going to come back from the dead as a _demon_?” His entire mind is screaming at him, _my brother can not be a demon!_

Cas nods. “He may very well already have woken up. What did you do with his body?”

Sam’s mind is still playing catch up— _Dean. A demon?!_ —and he stutters, “Uh—right um th-this way.” He spins on his heel and leads Cas out of the dungeon.

When they reach the room Sam had left Dean in and hear voices through the closed door they pause. One voice is very clearly, recognizably Dean’s, which has Sam both overjoyed and horrified. And the other…Sam’s eyes narrow. _The bastard_. He hisses at Cas, “It’s Crowley.”

Cas nods and they both ready their blades, Sam reaching in his coat and Cas’s just sliding out his sleeve and through his fingers, before Cas flings the door wide.

The first thing Sam sees is Crowley, directly in front of him, raising an arm and throwing Sam against the adjacent wall. He hears his own breath _whoosh_ out of his lungs with the impact and when he tries to draw another breath his airways immediately close off, an invisible hand wrapped around his throat.

The second thing Sam sees is Dean’s eyes go black with demonic fury. He claws at the air around his throat for relief as Dean screams at Crowley to let him go.

Sam watches, helpless, as Castiel approaches, blade raised, nothing but resolve and determination in his eyes and at the same time Dean launches himself from the bed where he sat. Crowley is clearly trying to fling Dean up against the wall next to Sam but Dean doesn’t go anywhere but forward. Sam sees Crowley’s eyes widen before he completely disappears from the room. He gasps as the pressure on his throat eases up and sweet oxygen floods his lungs once again.

Cas doesn’t waste a moment before dropping his blade with a clang, reaching out one arm to stop Dean’s forward momentum and clapping his other hand onto the side of Dean’s face. A sudden searing blue light pierced the room and Dean’s grimacing face falls slack. His body sags forward into Cas’s and the angel wraps his arms around him and holds him there, staring down at him blankly.

“You didn’t smite him did you?” Sam pants, actually a little worried.

Cas scoffs a little at that. “Of course not, Sam.” He maneuvers Dean’s limp body across the room and back to the bed where he gently sets him down on his back.

“Well what’d you do to him?” Sam brings a hand up to his throat where he massages the sore muscles and tendons.

Cas still stares down at Dean’s face as he speaks. “I simply put him to sleep for a bit. He’ll wake up unharmed.” Cas shrugs. “He may get a headache.”

Sam snorts. A headache was the least of Dean’s problems now.

 

* * *

 

Dean wakes up to whispers and a pounding in his head that makes him want to crush something—as if the infliction of pain on another being would somehow alleviate his own. He squints at the light that peers through the cracks in his eyelids and when his eyes finally adjust he sees a red painted devil’s trap directly above him. He fights a riot of emotions at the realization that he’s also chained to the bed he’s lying on. He feels mostly a raw, feral terror at finding himself trapped. But he also feels a hint of curiosity and apprehension. What do they plan on _doing_ with him anyway?

They have to be planning on curing him; there’s no way they would let him stay a demon. He’s not sure how he feels about that. Part of him desperately wants the cure and for everything to feel normal again. He wants that sense of family they had before. Sure, it was dysfunctional as hell, but it had felt so good to trust people, depend on them. He wants Sammy to trust him again and he’s not sure he can ever get that back. This part of him hates himself. He hates what he’s done. And he hates what he’s become.

Another part of him loves all of this. He _enjoys_ it. The power thrumming through his skeleton—it’s like a drug, only pure electricity. Is this what it’s like to be high on cocaine? It feels so good and he never wants to let it go. It’s everything he felt when he made a kill with his Blade only amped up to a million volts. When he was human it was like he only felt a fraction of the Mark’s power. Now that he’s a demon he can feel its full potential; he knows what he can really use it for. His base instincts have been amplified—he’s selfish and twisted and…evil. Abaddon’s voice echoes in his head. _Have you ever felt an infant's blood drip down your chin? Or listened to a girl scream as you rip her guts out? Because you will._

Dean shuts his eyes tight. The dark part of him enjoys those thoughts, even wants them, while the rest of him shakes with nausea, completely disgusted. He’s terrified of himself. And he can’t get away.

_They should send me back to hell._ At least he wouldn’t hurt anyone innocent down below.

More whispers. It’s Sam. “Are you sure this is going to work?”

“Not at all.” Wow what a comfort Cas can be. Dean rolls his eyes. “No one ever tried to cure Cain so we have no basis to predict what will happen.”

So was he a distinctive supernatural creature all of his own? Demons don’t get their bodies back so he is grateful to be the exception to that at least. He’s conflicted enough, he doesn’t need another mind with its own thoughts and opinions bouncing around up there. But that begs the question: could he be exorcised? He’s not sure how any of this works. How does he go back and forth between Hell and Earth? What kinds of abilities does he have now? Maybe Crowley would be useful…

“He won’t die though?” Dean wonders now. Can he die? Last time he checked he still had the stab wound Metatron had given him, so healing powers are out. And every time his chest expands with a breath the wound sends sharp bites of pain, almost like a lingering knife twisting in his rib cage. He tries to ignore it but it feels like he’s been run through, and he supposes he technically has been. He closes his eyes and concentrates—maybe it was like the force. Could he learn the _tricks of the trade_ himself or did he need a Jedi master? 

“I am not sure, Sam. I doubt that it would, however.”

Dean relaxes his entire body and focuses on not feeling the throb in his chest. He concentrates on everything but the pain emanating from the wound. He knows Sam and Cas are probably staring down, assessing him, but he ignores that too. He looks at it as a shift of consciousness. He manages to get the pain down to a dull ache. His eyes snap open. Well that was interesting. Maybe he could train himself to not feel pain. That could be pretty handy.

He unconsciously shifts his body and the chains that have him spread-eagled on the bed rattle and clink. “Dean?” Sam and then Cas appear at the bedside. There’s something about Cas that looks…different, almost blurry like he’s looking at him through fogged up glass. He blinks and it doesn’t go away. _Weird_. He shifts his gaze back and forth between his brother and the angel. They both look so traumatized that Dean starts to feel awful and then remembers that _he’s_ the one that’s chained up.

“How do you feel?” Sam asks.

“Everyone keeps asking me that. Not good,” Dean snaps. In fact, Sam has broken Dean’s focus and his chest has started to pulsate with pain again. Coupled with the pounding headache and Dean was one pissed off monster.

Both Sam and Cas frown. “Sorry about the ah—” Sam gestures at the chains and ceiling art.

“Yeah in case you didn’t notice I was actually trying to save your ass,” Dean gives Sam a look that clearly says, _what the fuck, Sammy?_

Cas jumped in, “You must know, Dean, that we had no way of predicting your behavior.”

“Did you really have to knock me out and chain me up though? I mean, I feel like I got hit by a truck!” Everything hurts. “Or a fuckin’ train.”

Cas tilts his head in contemplation at that. “You are in pain then?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Well I did just get stabbed in the chest and rise from the dead only to get angel-mojo-ed right in the face and chained rather awkwardly to this bed. By the way, what is with the chains? This isn’t a kinky thing right? Because I can’t go anywhere with that devil’s trap up there so,” Dean shrugs his shoulders as much as he can in his position. It ends up being just a weird shoulder roll and hand flop but he thinks it sends the message.

Sam sighs at that but Cas just blinks, looking completely astounded. “That is…unexpected,” the angel states.

Dean’s headache is getting worse, blood pounding in his temples and he scowls. “Why would that be such a shocker? I was literally _dead_ hours ago.”

“Well this is either very good or very bad.”

Sam shifts his attention to Cas. “What do you mean?”

“Dean evidently has a very strong connection to his human body,” Cas starts to explain.

“Crowley called it my meatsuit,” Dean thinks aloud.

The angel looks down thoughtfully. “Yes, but I don’t think you are an ordinary demon—”

“Aww you think I’m special,” Dean smirks.

Sam crosses his arms and gives him his classic bitch face. “So what makes him different?”

“Demons don’t feel the pain of the people they possess unless they choose to. Dean is possessing his own body but he still shouldn’t be able to feel that stab wound since it happened when he was human.”

Dean interrupts, “But that could just be because I’m still just a padawan.”

Cas purses his lips. “You think that with time you can train yourself into not feeling pain?”

Both Sam and Dean raise their eyebrows. “Well, Cas, it is nice that I don’t have to explain everything to you anymore,” Dean says, impressed.

Sam waves his hands in the air. “Anyway. How is a stronger connection with his human body going to make a difference? Could we just exorcise the demon part of him out?”

“Whoa, whoa,” Dean finds himself saying. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Huh. That felt bizarre. It reminded him of when he went to the doctor and they tapped on his knees to find a reflex. Was the demon part of him simply an alter ego? He feels really hot, too, all of a sudden. He wishes his hands were free to fan himself or at least take off some of the layers he was wearing.

Cas thinks about that for a second. “I agree with Dean. Demons are corrupted human souls and whatever parts of Dean have been subjected to corruption from the Mark, simply getting rid of them will not solve our problem. The soul needs to be healed—cured. And it could prove problematic getting Dean back into his body with his anti-possession tattoo.”

“Yeah I’d prefer you didn’t expel me from my body then peel my skin off and shove me back in,” Dean says.

“Our best bet is the cure then,” Sam concludes.

“Yes,” Cas continues. “But I am not sure if the injecting of human blood will make any difference at all. If the demon here is completely separate from the humanity left in him…I don’t believe the cure will work. Especially since there is no way for him to remove the Mark, which may also interfere. There is a chance, however, that this humanity Dean has somehow managed to hold onto could have the opposite effect and allow us to cure him. I have no way of knowing.”

“Cain still had humanity after rising as a demon. He—” Dean trails off and bites his lip.

“He what?” Sam prods.

Dean looks away. “He fell in love I guess.”

The trio falls silent, contemplating that.

“Well best of luck to ya on that one, Dean,” Sam jokes.

“Oh shut it, Sammy.” Dean is in no mood for this right now. Falling in love didn’t get Cain anything but more pain and loss. Dean does not have any need to go through the same thing. And he’d been there before a couple times himself. No desire to repeat that, whatsoever.

“I gotta say,” Sam adds. “I feel better knowing my demon monster brother is still capable of love.”

Dean doesn’t feel any better, though, despite Sam’s sincerity. In fact, his stomach has started to churn over and over and he feels tiny beads of sweat starting to gather in his hairline. He shuts his eyes and groans.

He feels two fingers press up against his forehead and the pain is instantly gone from his head and chest. The nausea remains though, even worsens, as Castiel heals him. It’s like part of him _writhes_ in disgust at the thought of an angel healing him. “Ugh. Why is it _so_ _hot_ in here?” He opens his eyes to see Sam shuffle guiltily.

“Yeah I meant to say something earlier but, um, we kind of already dosed you with my blood while you were out.”

“ _What?_ Seriously? Without my consent?”

Sam scoffs. “Dean, you, of all people, should understand not having someone’s consent.” His brother glares him down. And this was not where Dean wanted this conversation to go. He does not want to deal with the Gadreel incident all over again, _but shit, Sammy is right._ He loathes himself for putting Sam through that but it was all he could do to save him because he is a poor excuse for a big brother and couldn’t protect him in the first place.

Castiel is staring down intently at him now, brows furrowed over blue eyes. “Do you not wish to be cured, Dean?” And Dean is taken back to the first time they met, back in that barn. _What’s the matter? You don’t think you deserve to be saved._

“I mean…” Dean pauses. “I just think you should have waited to talk to me about it.” The chaos of feelings tumbling around in his head is almost physically painful. He wants to get out and test his boundaries, he wants to sink his Blade into flesh and spill blood, he wants and wants and _wants_. But he needs Sam. He needs Cas. And if he can be cured then those wants will go away, right? Dean huffs out a breath. _This better work._

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Some feedback would really make writing this worth it! Please let me know what you thought or drop me a kudos :) they are my drug!  
> I'll try to update this within a week so keep an eye out.


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